Serpentine Desires

The prey

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I woke up with a pounding head and confusion. For a second I couldn't recognise where I was.

Blinking against the haziness, the room slowly came into focus. My thoughts scattered like shards of glass, and cut deeper into my pounding skull. Though faint, yet unmistakable, the scent of oud and sandalwood had me have a mini heart attack.

Judas.

My pulse quickened and panic threaded through the fog. Heavy curtains were draped over the windows and I realised the room heating system was on.

I tried to sit up, but the dizziness pulled me back, pinning me to the bed. The events leading up to this moment were a blur, fragmented images that refused to piece together. How did I end up here? What happened?

My fingers curled into the soft sheets as I fought to reclaim my scattered thoughts.

And then my eyes widened, heart stuttering as I threw off the thick blanket in a panic. Goodness gracious.

That bastard.

I stared down at myself, horror flooding my veins. He hadn't even bothered to put my jeans back on me. The realization hit like a slap—I was lying completely naked in his bed, save for the thin, full-sleeved undershirt clinging to my skin.

I clenched the blanket, fighting the surge of humiliation that crawled up my throat. Judas had stripped me of my dignity. My mind vied to make rough calculations, trying to piece together how long I had been out. Had the day already set?

Panic bubbled up and almost choked me. How could I face him—or anyone—in this state? I needed to get out.

I swung my legs off the bed, but the moment my feet touched the cold floor, a sharp sting shot through my thighs and—good grief—my arse. I winced, instinctively rubbing the sore spot, hoping to God it wasn't as red as it felt. Of course, it would be just my luck.

That maniac actually spanked me.

I huffed in utter disbelief and irritation bubbled up. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all and I needed to find some clothes. Or at the very least, something to cover my sore, probably red, undoubtedly bruised dignity. Top of Form

Working in this mansion had its perks, though—like knowing exactly where Judas kept his closet. Without wasting any more time, I made a beeline for it. If he had the audacity to strip me down, I'd have no worries about borrowing his clothes.

Rifling through his neatly arranged wardrobe, I found a pair of his sweatpants. They were ridiculously large, but they'd have to do. I folded the waistband and tightened the drawstrings, but even then, they still hung low on my hips, almost slipping. Not wanting to trip over myself, I folded the hems of the ankles and did my best to make them look halfway decent.

Satisfied enough, I stumbled toward the door, my makeshift outfit still too big but manageable. I reached for the doorknob, I paused, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I had no idea what—or who—was waiting for me on the other side, but one thing was certain: I wasn't leaving this place without a fight, oversized sweatpants and all.

I pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor, the cool air hit my face as I forced myself to move forward. The soreness in my legs was not helping, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. The sooner I got out of here, the better.

My heart pounded louder than my footsteps as I made my way to the staircase. And my mouth twisted in bitterness.

There it was—Judas's large portrait on the stair wall. His cold, piercing eyes seemed to follow me, a permanent sneer etched into his painted face. The damn thing had always unsettled me, but now it felt like he was just waiting for me to trip on the stairs,